So Let's Go Where We're Happy
by rabbit keys
Summary: The Mirror of Erised - - - - "I show not your face, but your heart's desire." - - - - A strange mirror is in an antique shop. Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and DI Greg Lestrade happen to be visiting that shop to question the owner and end up standing in front of it. Then, years later, John comes back. Two-shot.
1. As Long As We're Together

_Inspired by a prompt I saw on some website about what the characters would see in the mirror of Erised, and I hadn't posted any one shots in a while._

_Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock, nor do I own the Mirror of Erised or the Albus Dumbledore's quotes I've placed in here._

* * *

"Come on, then, we'll have to do a bit of investigating." A grey haired detective inspector said to his two companions as they walked through London. "One of our suspects was reported to have visited an old antique shop down here. We need to question the shop owner."

The tallest of the trio, Sherlock Holmes, made it to the door of the place first and did not hesitate to stroll inside. The short, stocky man, Doctor John Watson, paused outside to get a good look at the place.

It was a store in a large building, merely one section of the shop complex. "Wizards' Antiques" was sandwiches between "Potions And Poultices", a medicinal store, and "Weasley Gizmos", a shop with window shelves full of machinery, gears, electrical wires, and other such things. The door to the antique store was a shiny mahogany, and the windows had been washed recently, John could tell. The windows of the antique store had black curtains, but John noticed a few candles on the windowsill.

Greg Lestrade, the aforementioned detective inspector, walked past John and into the store, just as eager as the pale consulting detective to interview the man quickly and go. John sighed, mentally prepared himself for any possible things Sherlock could cause to go wrong in the store, and then followed Lestrade.

The place was well-lit, but not by electricity- chandeliers held real candles that were lit, as did multiple shelves on the walls. There was all sorts of old stuff with price tags on them: small Telly sets, slightly scratched desks and tables, creaky chairs, dusty clocks, well-worn couches, several mirrors, and loads of other items.

Sherlock walked up to the counter and flashed the elderly man sitting behind it a false smile. "Hello, my name is Sherlock Holmes. This is DI Lestrade and Dr. John Watson. You spoke to one of us on the phone?"

"Yes, I did," the old man said, moving his long, white beard off the counter top and adjusting his half-moon glasses. "I'm Albus. I do believe you wished to ask me some questions about a certain disreputable fellow that stopped by here?"

"Right. Can you describe him for me?" Lestrade asked, coming to stand beside Sherlock, and then the two were questioning the man. John believed that they had it covered, so he decided to look around. Sherlock had set fire to their kitchen table the other day, and while it was still usable, the scorch marks were not very attractive to look at, so another table might be in order. John walked quietly around the store, looking at different tables and brushing the dust off them. Sherlock, Greg, and Albus' voices became just background noise as John's attention moved from tables to clocks.

They were old and mostly outwardly made of wood, with curly hands, or hands that looked like lightning bolts. One was a cuckoo clock, but it wasn't working, and the time was frozen at one o'clock. The thing that would spring out of it was stuck on the outside- A chimera of some sort, part eagle, part lion, and possibly part something else. John's eyes flicked away from the clock and over to a mirror.

The mirror was taller than John was, and it stood alone, without leaning against a wall or hanging on anything. There was no price tag. The decorative, mirror-holding metal appeared to be dusty, unpolished wrought gold, and there was an inscription at the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. _John wondered what it meant.

"I show not your face, but your heart's desire." Sherlock said, long coat swooshing dramatically as he walked over to stand in front of the mirror. John moved next to him, wanting to see where that was written. Not noticing where that quote was, he looked up at Sherlock, brow furrowed in confusion. Sherlock glanced down at him before staring at his reflection again. "The inscription on the top mirrored back to us would be 'I show not your face, but your heart's desire.'"

"That is the Mirror of Erised. It shows the greatest desire of the one looking into it. Men have wasted away before it, not knowing whether what they see is real or even possible." Albus explained, leaning over the counter when he noticed the two men standing before the mirror. "It's not for sale."

"So it shows you what you want?" Lestrade asked, intrigued by the idea. He left Albus to stand behind the mirror, looking to see if there was anything it was plugged up to electronically. If it was a magic trick or something. He found nothing.

"Not just what you want, but your heart's desire. It's inscribed right there, do keep up." Sherlock corrected, sounding bored. "Erised backwards is 'desire'."

John and Sherlock both gazed into the mirror. Albus watched them, curious to know what their hearts' desires were. He'd find out soon enough, though, just as he did when anyone else was shocked by what they saw and asked if the mirror was magical.

"It's just an ordinary mirror," John Watson said, not looking any less confused. "It's just Sherlock and I standing there."

"Indeed," Sherlock confirmed, walking away. Albus was shocked. John followed, but stopped him before he could leave the store.

"It looks like Greg wants to try," John explained, gesturing to the grey haired man who moved to stand in front of the mirror.

Greg Lestrade stood in front of the mirror, and then stumbled back, a shocked expression painting his face. "What the...oh, god, how-?!"

"What do you see?" Albus asked gently, curious as usual.

"I'm standing with my son- but there's a little girl there, too, and her face is blurry. I can't quite see her exact face. There's a woman standing next to me, too, but it's not my wife." The man's voice trembled a little. Sherlock scoffed.

"That's enough, Lestrade. Practical jokes aren't really your forte, stick to police work." Sherlock pushed open the door to the shop and strode away. John waved goodbye to Albus and hurried to follow. Lestrade lingered a moment by the counter.

"Why did it work for me and not them? Is it magic?" He asked, his eyes wide with astonishment. He swallowed and clenched his fists, obviously trying to regain control of his shocked body.

Albus smiled gently and placed a gentle hand on Lestrade's shoulder. "The happiest man in the world would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

"So what you're saying is that I'm not completely happy or whatever, but Sherlock and John there, they have everything they want? Each other?" Lestrade asked.

"Something like that," Albus said, his blue eyes twinkling. "You might want to run along, now, your friends are getting impatient. Well, the taller one is, anyway."

Lestrade glanced out the window. Indeed, Sherlock was watching him from outside, tapping his foot impatiently while John spoke to him, words falling on deaf ears. The detective inspector turned to Albus. "Thanks. We appreciate the help."

"No problem at all, my dear boy. Come back again sometime." Albus waved as Lestrade opened his door and departed. He watched the trio as they hailed a taxi. "Curious indeed," he murmured to himself, his eyes focusing on John and Sherlock. "What happy men those two must be."


	2. What We Used To Be

_I thought a follow-up would be good, and a dear friend agreed with me, so here this is._

* * *

Albus looked up as the door to his shop swung open. A short, middle-aged blonde man walked in, with tired lines on his face and stubble from not shaving in a while. His cane tapped on the floor as he walked, making his otherwise silent movement loud. His blue eyes were clouded over with grief and his mouth was tight, but he stood straight, as if trying to put on the appearance that he was fine and fully recovered from whatever traumatic or grief-inducing experience he had been put through recently. Albus knew better.

"Hello, how may I help you?" Albus asked.

"Hi, I don't know if you remember me, I'm John Watson. I just came to get a new table." John shook hands with Albus as the white-haired old man tried to remember him.

"Ah, you were here a year or two ago with the detective inspector and that tall fellow, correct?" The man mused, blue eyes twinkling.

John swallowed, composing himself. "Yes. Yes, I was." He paused. "When we came I was intending to buy a new table along with getting the information on the suspect- Sherlock had burnt our table recently, you see- but then we got distracted by that mirror, and I didn't buy one. I suppose getting it a year or two late can't hurt."

Albus nodded. "Ah, yes, the Mirror of Erised. It can be distracting. Well, I hope you can find a table to your liking. Any specific kind of table you're looking for?"

"No, I'm just going to browse, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead."

John walked towards the area of the small store where most of the tables were kept. His hands brushed the dust off of several before stopping on a plain wooden one with five legs- an oddity that had never sold in the thirty years Albus had owned the thing. There were a few scratches on the surface, and the legs were placed in the four corners with one in the very center of the table.

"I bought that one off of a dying man," Albus informed John. He wasn't sure why he was telling him. "He was adamant that it should never go in a fireplace. He built it himself, he said, and wanted to be remembered whenever someone looked at the table."

"What was his name?" John asked with a mellow sort of curiosity.

"James, I think. I can't seem to recall his last name." Albus murmured.

"How much for it?" John asked, walking up to the counter. He stopped suddenly and a strangled, pitiful sound escaped his throat when he passed by the Mirror of Erised and glanced at it out of the corner of his eye.

John Watson's eyes widened and his wallet fell from his hand as he stared into the mirror. Albus wondered what could have possibly evoked that sort of reaction, because he couldn't remember what the man had seen the first time he came into the shop. John spun around and saw that no one was behind him, and then he turned back to the Mirror.

"It's real," he said in a hushed voice, tears filling his eyes. "You were telling the truth. It shows what your heart d-desires." He choked up.

"What do you see, my boy?" Albus asked gently.

"Sherlock is standing next to me. My dead best friend is right here- he's got his hand on my shoulder, god, _Sherlock_." A tear slipped out of his eye as he continued to stare at the Mirror of Erised with naked longing. He glanced once more behind him, only to find that he was still standing there, alone, just as he had been when he spun around moments ago. It seemed to be too much for the poor man. John Watson covered his mouth with one hand as tears slid down his face, trying to muffle his sobs.

Albus stood there, shocked- The tall man from before was dead? (Albus doesn't watch telly or keep up with the news, he's kind of a lonely old shut-in.) He quickly composed himself and walked from behind the counter to the Mirror and grabbed a tarp he had kept specifically for occasions like these, should they ever arise. He covered the Mirror and gently took John by the shoulder and guided him to a chair, because the man's hand had tightened around his cane so much that his knuckles had turned white, and the poor piece of plastic seemed to be the only thing keeping him from collapsing on the floor.

It took John a few moments to compose himself, his free hand clenched and his other hand kept around his mouth to try to remain quiet. When he calmed a little, he let go of his mouth and took a shaky breath. Blinking rapidly and swallowing, he kept his gaze focused on anywhere but the covered Mirror of Erised.

"I'm sorry." John apologized in a cracking voice. "I just- I think I'll have to come get that table another time. I can't- I-"

"It's alright," Albus said calmly, knowing how it felt to break down because of that horrible, wonderful Mirror. "Let me get your wallet, you dropped it." He went to pick it up as John rose shakily from the chair. Albus clasped John's hand warmly. "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that." The wizened old man said to the grieving, middle-aged one as he left.

John spared one last glance at the covered Mirror. "I'll remember."

Captain John Watson, army doctor, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, had nightmares that night of an old friend falling off of a building.


End file.
